


And if you can't walk, you fucking crawl

by Kat2107



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:45:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat2107/pseuds/Kat2107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe Dameron survived Kylo Ren. He survived the crash. He survived the desert. </p><p>He survived. Period.<br/>In pain and somewhat worse for wear, but he survived.<br/>And it's not over yet. </p><p>There are a thousand versions of how everything began and how it ended with Poe sitting next to a hospital bed, waiting for a hero to wake up.<br/>But this is the middle.<br/>The part he doesn't tell. Where he keeps going until he drops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blowback Town

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains references to both the film and the book and several background sources.  
> The rest is made up by me :)

Only two types of locations existed on Jakku: desolate and more desolate. At least in Poe Dameron’s opinion.

By now he had ample experience with both and was positive that Blowback Town ranked among the first.

Situated in the shadow of a steep cliff, it was perhaps the only place, aside from the planet’s poles, where the temperature regularly sunk below ‘bake it til it's dead’

It was the reason for the cliff that was a thing of marvel and Poe, who had seen a lot of things, had needed a long moment to process the fact that the sheer surface rising above the collection of improvised hangars in its shadow consisted entirely of glass.

Something had tried to land here during the battle of Jakku and somehow, whoever had commandeered that ship, had managed to find a gigantic dune and turned it into glass.

Counting the prevalence of a certain type of engine among the local populace, that something looked to have been an old blockade runner, the CR90’s octuplet engines more than enough to melt sand and also stacked high enough to do it to an entire dune.

Of course the ship had long been dismantled by now, but…

 

Poe rested his head against the cool metal of the small corellian freighter in his back and let his eyes wander lazily over the shimmering surface above them, grateful for a few seconds of reprieve.

His head hurt, a ceaseless war drum pounding against his skull, screaming each passing second into his fried brain circuits.

He needed to get off planet. He needed to get BB-8.

Easy enough if he didn't blow it again by doing something rash.

Metal coolness seeped under his skin and it was enough to make him twist his head away, the reprieve he had been feeling just moments earlier destroyed by the memory of cold spindly fingers forceful pushing into his thoughts.

Blood flaked off his skin and into the open collar of his shirt, itching on sweaty skin. A perpetual reminder of each blow he had taken, each hit. Being immobile and helpless. Of coming to, alone in the heat, no Finn in sight. No TIE.

Damn, what would he give to hear that smooth voice now,  fearful but determined to do what he had committed himself to.  Finn would be needling him endlessly about his wish to go back to Jakku,  now that he was desperate to leave it.

He maybe should have gone with Finn’s plan of getting away first.

Poe pressed his fingertips to his temples with a deep curse.

He blamed it on Kylo Ren and the torture that had had him make the wrong call. The desperate call.

“Finn...,” Poe whispered, apologetically, but the words vanished into the relentless Jakku heat.

I’m sorry, he wanted to add, but swallowed the useless words. At least the young trooper had died possessing the least of human dignities: a name.

FN-2187, my ass.

Poe closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Finn," he whispered again and remembered the feeling of wanting to wrap that terrified and just so incredibly brave kid into his arms. The thought of ‘hey, how would these lips feel’

Poe remembered a sharp flash of hope. The whisper of something that had told him to trust the Stormtrooper.

_You will not regret it._

And he didn’t, even though he did.

Finn should have had a chance to just learn freedom.

It was not fair. Any of it.

 _‘Once your ship is caught in the gravitational motion it's too late,  Poe.’_ It must be yet another side effect of the head injury that he suddenly remembered one of the last flying lessons his mother had ever given him.   _‘Once you are crashing you can't stop it. But you can always influence velocity and angle. When you crash you crash,  my boy,  but the “how” is up to you.  Always.’_

“Poe, my friend, savior of my family. Are you unwell?”

Ohn Gos looked eerily like his Cousin Naka. He even sounded like his cousin.

The only difference between them seemed to be that Ohn loved to talk even more than the Blarina that had picked Poe out of the desert. And he was a declared admirer of the Resistance.

“We are ready to leave, my friend. We can still delay though,  should you think you are too ill to make the jump?”

Poe pushed away from the ship’s hull and called a smile forth onto his lips.

“A headache, but the business of the galaxy’s safety has no regards for one man’s pain.”

“Once we are to hyperspace we will contact your people and negotiate a transfer,” Ohn Gos declared with an expression that counted as a smile among the Blarina and though he was technically right about being owed a reward for helping Poe….

“I will contact them as soon as we’re clear from the planet and that Star Destroyer and I swear, most trustful Ohn Gos, you will be rewarded for your gracious help.”

The Blarina smiled again and in Poe’s mind icy fingers dug their way through his thoughts, for no particular reason.

That could have been a Republican senator and Poe would have not felt safe at that moment. Alright,  knowing Republic Senators he wouldn't feel safe with them no matter where and no matter the circumstances.

He had with Finn though.

But Finn had not made it.

Poe had flunked that escape, had botched the emergency landing and now the man who had saved him was dead.

Cutting of that train of thought,  Poe turned and followed the merchant on board the freighter.

Finn might be dead, but Luke Skywalker wasn’t. Poe still had a job to do.

Get off the planet. Call D’Qar. Get someone to pick him up. Return and find BB-8.

Get a few bacta patches onto his body somewhere in between. They might do shit for his head,  but at least they would take care of the annoying clicking of his broken ribs and the ton of bruises that mottled his body.

Poe had not checked yet,  but he remembered with painful clarity the Stormtroopers' hits.

And then he would go and get a new jacket before erecting a fucking memorial for the man with the dark eyes and ultra kissable lips who had been scared to death and saved Poe anyways.

  
***

“This is P03Y5684, callsign Black Leader. Does anyone copy?”

Ohn Gos’ freighter lacked the capability to send on ecrypted channels.

Poe’s head was quickly losing the capability to make random calls just in case someone finally manned the com station.

The dark pit in his stomach whispered anxious fears of destruction with every call that didn’t go through.

Six, so far.

He couldn’t just send directly to base. The Ileenium system was far enough off to make interception unlikely, but Poe was still only a sun system away from a First Order Star Destroyer.

Every message sent contained recipient data and accidentally revealing the Resistances base of operation was bad form.

 

Emergency protocol allowed usage of some very obscure channels that had been in operation since the days of Alderaan.

But these channels needed to be monitored first.

 

“This is P03Y5684, call sign Black Leader. Does anyone copy?”

Ohn poked his head around the door with what Poe interpreted as a hopeful expression. At Poe’s apologetic shake of his head he just shrugged and retreated back into the cockpit.

The freighter went surprisingly smooth. Both start and the jump into hyperspace had gone off without a hitch.

“Take care of her myself!” The pride in Ohn’s voice had been endearing even had the Blarina not saved Poe’s ass by getting him off planet. The Resistance was always on the lookout for good talent. And a good mechanic was top priority on every pilot’s list.

And once you got past his love for overly stilted speech and talking in general, Ohn was good people.

 

“This is P03Y5684, call sign Black Leader. Does anyone copy?”

Poe’s breath hitched in his throat when the silence of the com console was broken by a second of static.

“C’mon Brance,” he silently tried to spur on the head communications officer on D'Qar. “Take your fucking com. Three beers! Just be there.” The static did not repeat.

 

“This is,” Poe took a deep breath, cursing the idea with the next when his abused ribs protested. “P03Y5684. Fucking hell. Does anyone copy?” Poe closed his eyes and sent a prayer into the void. “Anyone?”

“P03Y5684. Identify yourself,” answered a static crippled voice from the depths of the aether. Poe stilled recognized Brance’s unique lilt of perfect high basic.

The double identification was protocol. A triple redundancy since they were in all likelihood already running voice ID on his call.

“This is call sign Black Leader. Brance, where the hell have you been?”

Static cackled and it took Poe a second to identify it.

Brance was laughing.

 

This time as Ohn poked his head in from the cockpit he gave him a thumbs up and enough of a grin that the cut on his lip opened again.

He didn’t care.

When the connection opened again from the other side he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the relief.

“Encryption enabled. It’s so good to hear your voice, Poe.”

“What the hell, Brance. I’ve been trying to hail you for half a standard hour. I need a pickup.”

“We didn’t expect you to call in, Black Leader and we were having a slight situation here.” There was an ominous pause. “We thought you were dead.”

Of course they would have thought that. Maybe they even had hoped that he’d died. Dead people couldn’t be interrogated.

“Yeah, that could have been a likely possibility. The last two days have been… difficult. To say the least.”

Sorting through his thoughts Poe decided on a course of action that would leave him with no time for rest, but all of them with at least some chance for success.

“Listen, Brance, I need a few things. A pickup, a ship and a skeleton crew. I got off Jakku, but I need to go back and get BB-8.”

That was not exactly secret information.

The First Order already knew that BB-8 had the data chip.

The rest was just fluff and he trusted Brance’ capabilities to keep a secure encryption.

“Where have you been, Black Leader?” Brance voice was not suspicious. It was a certain kind of mindfulness vibrating in the words that even broke through the less than ideal connection.

Brance was making sure he hadn’t sold them out.

And rightly so.

“Special accommodations package on board the _Finalizer_. And Brance... they know where the package is, ok? I really need to get my droid!”

He didn’t tell them he broke, because he didn’t. Poe Dameron hadn’t broken and if it had been up to him he would have died before they got anything out of him.

Sadly, mindfuck didn’t work that way. People like Kylo Ren didn’t ask for permission.

The other side was silent then, not even static breaking the wait for their decision.

Poe half expected them to cut him loose. To just file him under casualties and let that be it.

He had to shake himself once to remember that that was not what the Resistance did. It was not what the general did.

Just residue from what happened in that room. He would be fine. His people would come for him. They would get BB-8 and he would…

 

“Poe?”

Not the voice of Lieutenant Brance. This voice was satin covering titanium. Warm caring wrapped around a ruthless intellect.

Probably the only person Poe Dameron unflinchingly took orders from most of the time.

“General.”

“In how bad a shape are you?” Of course she would do that; ask after him first and not after the  classified information he had dropped into their enemy’s laps.

“A few bacta patches will do.”

There was another beat of silence.

“Can you make rendevouz above Thanvein III? The situation has changed. I'm sorry. We bring your ship and we need you in the air as soon as possible.”

Situation has changed could mean anything. ‘we have found him.’ ‘it’s too late.’ ‘We don’t trust you.’

“General….”

“Do you trust me, Poe?”

“With my life.” It wasn’t even a question. And when Leia Organa invoked his trust… And she had said that she’d bring his X-wing. That pretty much nixed his fears.

“Your men just commandeered a carrier and are loading your ship, Commander. Be on time,” Leia Organa said and this time there was no mistaking the smile in her voice.

 

Thanvein III was a good choice for a quick swap. The moon was technically outer rim territory and of so little interest that most didn’t know it existed.

The commander of the stormtrooper garrison had taken over as governor after the fall of the empire and had created a bit of a semi-legal pirate haven.

A trade outpost slash mining colony main base slash spaceport.  Nobody asked questions as long as you paid your fees and  Harloc, the man’s successor, was even halfway friendly with the resistance.

 

“Yes, Ma’am. And uh, general? Bring credits. I owe the cab fee.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Crawling

Light years away General Leia Organa sank down on a crate with second hand radar equipment, uncaring of all the eyes transfixed on her, chief among them captain “Snap” Wexley.

Poe had cut the connection with one last, lighthearted quip. Competent. Confident. Himself.

Leia knew - felt - the same sudden elation from all of them.

Poe had made it.

Poe with his quick smile and sharp wit held a fond place in most people’s hearts and that wasn’t taking into account his astonishing ability in the air or as a leader.

But they had gotten used to losses. Some hurt more than others, but they inevitably happened. It was rare to have hope fed with such sweet ferocity. Leia would have had to lie to deny her joy.

“General?” Snap. Of course.

 

“Yes, Captain Wexley?”

 

“Do we trust him?” Fear had crept in Snap Wexley’s voice and Leia cursed the First Order for bringing this on them, for teaching her men and women to fear those closest to them.

Another, softer voice in her heart cursed herself for not being able to end this when they had had their chance thirty years earlier.

Maybe that was why she did nothing to hide her fondness when she answered. “Well, Captain Wexley,” Leia allowed herself to smile, “since Commander Dameron contacted us on the open channel instead of using the more specific ones and since we are as of yet still alive and not under attack, I dare answer with a resounding yes.”

The man in front of her was already dressed for flight, the orange jumpsuit a glaring contrast to the muted colors in central command. Now he watched the tips of his combat boots with deep concentration, studiously avoiding her gaze.

“How did they even get the information out of him?”

Snap spoke softly, keeping it between the two of them, always careful not to compromise a friend and comrade.

Leia had to admire that.

“There are methods, Captain. Drugs, among them. Kylo Ren is said to be very apt at certain methods using the Force.” Leia placed a gentle hand on the much taller man’s shoulder. “I will send a medical droid with your ship. Take good care of him, Snap.”

 

The pilot excused himself with a sharp salute then and Leia was alone once more.

Not many here knew how it felt to be interrogated by a Force user.

And Kylo Ren….

Her eyes caught on the multitude of lines that criss crossed the holotable in the middle of the room.

Search parameters to determine the most likely destinations of the Millennium Falcon.

BB-8 was with Han, if the rumours intelligence had uncovered were to be believed.

Poe was alive.

And Kylo Ren had not stolen their position from his mind.

He could have, probably, had he tried.

And while a mind probe took a certain amount of power, Kylo Ren was by no means weak.

He knew she was with the Resistance command. He knew she’d die with it, if necessary.

And maybe it was a mother’s naive wish, but in her heart she knew that Ben had not looked.

Once, a generation past, Shara Bey, Poe’s mother, had tried to explain to Leia how motherhood felt.

Her words had rang hollow then, finding no resonance in a younger Leia’s heart.

Now though…

Shara’s little boy was alive and safe for now and Ben had not looked….

 

***

 

“I am most honoredly honored to have been able to help the Resistance and the great General in their quest to squash the most despicable remnants of the Empire.”

Behind Poe Major Emmat stood steadfastly and somewhat baffled with his tablet forgotten in his hands. Ohn Gos, oblivious to the Resistance's man’s bemusement, went off into a long tangent about the virtues of her royal highness general Organa in particular and the Resistance in general.

Defender of true freedom in the galaxy and ….

Poe didn’t tell Snap to slow down until they had turned the second corner from the air lock, their strides matched in a unisono rhythm belying a certain need for distance.

Though Snap did pull his steps a bit, making it easier for Poe to follow until they came to a sudden halt.

“What the hell, Dameron?”

“He’s going like that all...the...time…,” Poe grinned and fixed his gaze on the other pilot with elation and relief both dictating his actions more than actual planning.

Snap’s form was swimming in front of his eyes. It was the temperature difference between the Resistance carrier and the freighter.

Must be.

It wasn’t pain. Poe had spent the last two hours in a light meditation trying to not watch someone else pilot a spacecraft.

Not out of panic. Poe wasn’t one of those front-seat passengers.

He wasn’t.

Sometimes he tranced himself out on spaceflights to preserve energy. Let BB-8 take over and...

...the pain had gotten much better.

So much better.

So…

***

“The most urgent concern, but also the most easily addressed was his severe dehydration. We gave him four units of electrolyte solution. Any lingering effects should resolve themselves with rest.”

 

Poe came to to the sweet smell of bacta attacking his nostrils and the bright lights of a med station insulting his eyes. The voices floated freely in a timeless space; possibly in the same room, but just as likely five over.

 

“The rest is cuts, bruises, lacerations. He has three fractured ribs, not in a cascade so that would be three different injuries. Examination found injection marks on his neck, but no traces of drugs in his blood. That sets a timeframe of at least 24 hours since he was interrogated. There is severe bruising on his stomach, with light bruising of his liver. Thankfully in humans that usually resolves itself.”

 

Something beeped obnoxiously close to Poe’s head and he needed a long second, more like ten, to identify it as his heartbeat.

It had a different cadence to Doc Kalonia and that in itself annoyingly kept him from drifting back to sleep.

Under Poe’s body cool linen stretched, brushed his skin, rubbed painfully in places.

Not enough though, to jolt him to awareness.

He should, because…

The cool freshness seeped into his muscles, warmth enveloping him with only a pinprick spot on his right arm overflowing with burning cold.

Slightly disturbing.

“So basically, he is fine?”

That voice he remembered. It had carried him across the D’Qar airfield once, yelling for help after Poe had crashed what had been left of his fighter. He had limped the X-Wing back to base following a stupid gorge run against three TIEs. Some of his best piloting then. And a broken shoulder and a piece of debris lodged in his thigh.

Now again Snap was close to him, guarding him at his most vulnerable.

Doc Kaliona’s answer came slowly, full of doubt. “Tentatively. Yes. His injuries are a concern and General, I need to note formal protest as to his flight readiness.”

She had had, Poe mused, still caught between thoughts, these protests ignored so many times now, that he had to admire her still trying.

Even when the General listened, Poe always retained the right to be the last judge of his ability and health.

Kalonia, Force bless her good heart and steady hands, was no pilot.

She didn’t know what was needed up there. She didn’t understand that Poe, even if he wasn’t at his best, was still better than most. She didn’t understand that his mere presence held sway up there, his name a security blanket the younger pilots tucked under to manage their fear.

 _But what if you die?_ She once had asked.

 _What if they do?_ Had been Poe’s answer, willing her to understand.

Leia understood. The superstition. How faith sometimes was the only thing that had them all not end up dead.

She understood why there was no designation handed out between Red 4 and Red 6. She understood without ever having to ask that Red 5 was not to be reassigned.

Skywalker wasn’t dead. He was just missing.

Not a Ghost yet on the wall of heroes, but a vacancy waiting for him.

Leia understood.

She understood leadership better than most, better than Poe probably ever could.

 “Your protest is duly noted, Dr. Kalonia,” and though Leia Organa’s tone was friendly, her tone was steel. “When will Commander Dameron meet the minimum requirements for flight in your opinion?”

The silence hang heavily. Poe used it to force his brain into something like time/ place awareness.

Med station. 32 BY.

Snap was with him.

General Organa couldn’t have been. Doc Kalonia never left base.

Talking about his barely conscious body. Delivering a final verdict with the patient unable to protest.

Splendid.

“I don’t know, Leia,” Doc Kalonia finally sighed. “I can assess and treat his concussion, but I’ll be honest with you... I have never seen anything remotely like the microbleeds in his brain. They don’t correspond to any outward injury and while they seem innocuous, I can’t ascertain any compounding effect the grav changes of flight might have. I don’t even know where the injury stems from…” She broke off, grasping for words, leaving Poe to ponder whether to try and answer that or just let them doubt.

Then the General spoke.

“Force mind probe,” she said matter of fact. Hard and cold as she only got when something got too close. When she lost men.

“But that is mental…”

“The Force connects all living things, Doctor Kalonia. And thoughts do exists. They can be stolen. Influenced. Violated. A mere suggestion may not leave a trace…” She huffed without humor. “But we all do know Poe… Suggestions do not work with him.”

With the silence growing even heavier at her words Poe finally pulled his thoughts together enough to try and rejoin the living.

 _If anyone suggests something for the headache I’d be willing to listen,_ was what he wanted to say.

He settled for “ugh”.

 

“Hey, Dameron. Easy.”

Snap.

He placed careful hand on Poe’s shoulder.

Warm.

With flightstick callouses and the scent of motor oil, metal and space that hung onto all of them like an invisible wreath of honor.

Not clinical and detached gleaming uniformity like the first order.

Not the dark room where it…

“BB-8!” Poe croaked, pouring each ounce of strength he could wring out of his unwilling body into these three syllables. Two, if one slurred them.

They were his first words and they elicited a soft laugh from someone off screen.

 

“He’s fine,” Snap said, barely extending any energy in the attempt to hold Poe down. “Poe! BB-8 is not in the hands of the First Order!”

 

A knock sounded from behind Snap, a soft female voice that snarled something explicit.

“I’m trying, bloody hell. He’s not listening, Jess!” Snap snarled back and it was the normalcy of it that had Poe open his eyes.

“Where…?”

Half of Jakku’s sand had made his throat its home it seemed and the dry pain threatened to overwhelm him.

"You're on the _Steadfast._ Med bay. Because you had to faint like a holonet heroine."

Thank the Force Snap was a good, albeit grumpy, nursemaid.

He only let go of Poe long enough to get a glass of water. And although it was a little embarrassing, Poe reveled in his friend’s hand that lifted his head and slowly dripped the water past his lips.

 

“How d’ I look?” Poe asked after two glasses, with more calm and less pain tearing at his voice.

“Like shit,” came Snap’s merciless answer and the laugh as Poe made a face.

“Good enough for a General?”

“You will always look good enough for me, Poe,” The halfway cheerful answer came from the com screen in Snap’s back and, damn, she tried. She tried so hard. “Leave us alone for a moment, Captain Wexley?”

Snap patted Poe’s shoulder with a smile and he too was trying so hard, keeping up a good front to hide the relief, the unwillingness to leave.

So Poe made it a little easier on him and jerked his head towards the door in a miniscule movement. It was an _I’m fine, my body is messed up, but I know where I am and my headspace is right_ gesture.

It was even true. Nothing on a Resistance ship, not even the med bay, came close to the clinical detachment of the First Order.

 

Poe waited until the door had firmly closed behind his friend and second in command, before he turned to the screen.

He expected a lecture. A few choice words about bravery and courage.

“I’m sorry, Poe.”

This he didn’t expect. The sorrow. The pain.

“I’ll be fine,” he rasped and he meant it.

Sleep might become a challenge and regret a cold blanket for a while, until its weight became familiar around his shoulders, forever bearing the name Finn. But in the end, as long as they let him have the sky and something to fight for, he would be fine.

Not unaltered, but alright.

“I shouldn’t be asking this of you,” she took up a new subject with seamless ease. “But can you fly?”

Her lips pulled into a soft smile at her words, sharp and clear as if she were behind a window and not lightyears aways.

She already knew the answer.

“I can always fly, General. The question is, how well do you need me to fly and how soon?”

“I don’t know yet. The Doctor insists on minimum rest and I'm confident we can give you as much. Other than that...”

She straightened.

“BB-8 has left Jakku. On the Millennium Falcon. The First Order has given out an alert to all smugglers, head hunters and mercenary crews in the Mid Rim. They don’t have him. This much we know.”

“The Falcon?!”

The name alone had Poe push up on the bed until he awkwardly leaned against the headboard, immediately regretting the decision as his ribs went wild with pain.

 

“Yes… the Falcon,” Leia Organa said and rolled her eyes, checking over her shoulders if anyone had seen.

“It seems some things never change. And the Falcon being in the middle of it is one. We don’t yet know where or with whom. We are scouting the nearest system and hideouts, trying to keep ahead of the First Order while intelligence is hunting all sources for input. But the more time passes that they spend in Hyperspace...”

“The lower our chances. Yes.”

It made sense in the way that sieving a desert made sense.

The Falcon’s speed was known. Jakku was located on the outer parts of the Mid Rim and that diminished the number of possible locations with little enough oversight to land that ship.

Slightly.

The General leaned closer then, bridging the gap of distance and torture between them, until to Poe it both seemed to vanish.

Just looking at her he knew he’d be fine eventually.

“I need to know how you escaped, Poe. That might shed some light on all of this. Because this? The Falcon. Your survival and BB-8 safely being carted off Jakku? It’s a bit much as far as luck goes. And I have long since stopped believing in sheer luck.”

 

Poe had never even started. He had grown up in the shadow of the whispering tree, hearing stories of his parents and the great heroes and when he sat very still and listened, they had said, he could hear the tree itself.

Sometimes, when the jungle was very quiet and the earth warm, he could hear his mother’s voice.

He hadn’t stopped as he joined the military, taking the sometimes cutting remarks of the other pilots with a grin, his head held high and whispered May the Force be with you to their backs before every start.

Rectifying his earlier mistake Poe slowly slid down the headboard and made himself comfortable. For now, they were in hyperspace and there was time yet.

So he told her, closed his eyes and shut out the sorrow in her eyes and just talked.

 

***

 

The port in his arms was pulled and discarded as soon as the connection terminated and the last of the fluid had burned its way into his body.

Poe was done.

Done being the victim. Done passively waiting.

 

The medbay refreshers were so small that he bumped his bruised shoulder first thing.

With their bacta supply limited to use with severe injuries the med droid had mended the worst of his ribs and his internal injuries. Anything else was left to time and biology and Poe knew he’d be feeling it for weeks,

But the water, while stale and recycled, was warm and wet and all he needed, cocooning in the wet heat that felt like Yavin, if he tried hard enough to pretend.

A protective wall against the rawness his General had provoked.

Intentionally.

_Do you need help, Poe?_

Do you need someone to get the feeling of forceful invasion out of your head?

 

Soap and water and Bacta sloshed down his body in thick rivulets, coloring the water red as it swirled around his feet and down the drain.

Sand.

His own scream, muted against icy metal tiles.

_Breath._

His wrists were covered in raw, discolored bruises.

_You can’t stop the crash._

He didn’t know if he could ever again bear to be held.

_You can chose the trajectory._

He had made it. He had gotten out.

_The speed._

With help.

_The angle._

FN-2187.

Finn.

 

 _“Do you feel he is dead, Poe?”_ Leia Organa had asked, after he had finished his report.

_“I am no Jedi, General. Us normal people don’t feel stuff like that.”_

General Organa had smiled at that, completely unperturbed , _“Of course. But my question stands. What do you feel? Don’t tell me. Tell yourself.”_

 

Water pounded on his shoulders, faint pain hammering on broad lines that the safety belts had left. Broken rib number three.

The heavy pull of G-Forces. The tearing power of a ship out of control,

Impending death. The knowledge of someone at his back.

Having his back.

Someone there.

Warmth.

Heart. So much heart...

 

“Poe!”

The call, followed by a heavy fist pounding against the refresher door pulled him back, but there, for a moment, Poe had had an answer.

“What the Force, Snap,” Poe yelled and it came easy now, his voice still gravely, but no longer raw. “I am naked, wet and annoyed, so what the hell?”

“Brought your stuff and flightsuit. Your favorite socks and food."

_Don’t disturb the victim unannounced. Knock. Make your presence known in a friendly manner._

Snap was doing this by the book. As much as he could anyways. There was a reason why he was an even better reconnaissance flyer than Ello Asty.

Curious, sharp and with an astute sense for trouble Snap Wexley also had a keen dislike for doing things by the book.

Thank the Force.

Poe’s lips pulled into a crooked grin as he shook his head and turned off the water, suddenly very much in the present.

 

He didn’t much care for modesty, a thin and worn towel his only concession as he walked out of the refresher unit.

“How do you know my…” Poe broke off. “Those _are_ my favorite socks.”

Spread out on the bed lay an orange flight suit, complete with a commander’s rank insignia. Very much his own.

A pair of shorts and a shirt that both were his and, yes, one pair of soft worn in socks that he had bought on leave in an outdoor shop on Coruscant two years back. Of six packs only two had survived until now and he held onto them fervently.

Coruscant was a far away luxury since he had joined the Resistance and leave a rare commodity.

“Iolo,” said the man who lounged against the wall besides the door and gobbled down a nutrition bar.

Poe took the name of his former squadron member and now freshly promoted leader of one of the two squadrons connected to the General’s flagship with an eyeroll.

Iolo had left the Republic military with Poe and he was exactly the kind of person to notice his favorite socks.

 

Grabbing the underwear and shirt off the bed Poe refused to be unnerved and instead retreated into the refresher to dress

“How’s the search for my droid going?” he called back and got a huff for an answer.

“That good, huh?” Poe deadpanned, fighting with gritted teeth to get his second arm into his shirt.

Just sneaking naked into the sheets was incredibly tempting in that moment. Feeling the cool fabric slide against his skin, free of sand and blood and just clean…

He would do this. Later. Once he was home, Poe promised, he would sleep three days. Call in sick and just languish in bed all day.

For now he needed to be emergency ready and if that meant he had to struggle his way into his undershirt, then bloody hell, he would.

Snap still hadn’t answered by the time Poe had finally managed to drag the tight piece of clothing over his over sensitized skin.

When he did, he talked slowly, more thoughtful than usual.

“We know they left Jakku. One of Nien’s old contacts is on the extended FO pull list, so we know what they are looking for. BB-8 and two fugitives,”

 

They all doubled in some capacity, the resources in the Resistance stretched so thin that each of them filled wherever necessary.

Where Poe now commanded all D’Qar squadrons, moonlighting as commanding officer for their mobile squadrons on board the Echo of Hope, Snap with his natural curiosity and affinity for tech and slicing doubled up with intelligence.

It made work harder in one way and so much easier in others.

In the Republic military Poe had been receiving orders, fulfilling them to the best of his ability, without ever knowing why.

And when he had known why and had followed up, he had been running headlong at a court martial, until the General had intervened and roped him and his remaining squadron into the Resistance.

Now he knew exactly what was going on at any given time, Snap his personal info dump.

 

“Do we know who they are?” Poe asked and walked out again, using the four steps that it took him to test his bruised left knee.

He almost missed the nutrition bar that Snap tossed at him.

 

If it was a test to check Poe’s reflexes, he aced it. Of course he did. But he was far too hungry to care if Snap was resorting to such low handed tactics now.

 

“Rumour has it the Guavians ran into them and according to them it’s Solo,” Snap said and  Poe paused with his teeth dug into the artificial tasting bar, torn between taking that bite or speaking.

In the end he shook his head and ate as Snap continued.

“But. And here comes a big but, original reports from Jakku never mentioned him. A male and a female was the original targets. Make of that what you will.”

Poe chewed while nodding slowly.

Snap’s words fed that small flame of hope General Organa had ignited. And right now he needed the small push of strength it gave him just to keep the food down that his exhausted body was ready to reject.

It was the little things that made life worthwhile.  

“So we wait until they show up again?”

“Basically yes.” Snap unwrapped another nutrition bar. “I have both D’Qar squadrons on standby. Black One is ready, Jess made sure of that. So, whenever we are a go, we are a go.”

“Where’s Testor?” He had heard Jess earlier, Poe was sure of it and found confirmation in the way Snap laughed.

“Right outside the door. She’s not happy that you are under DND until you have met the Doc’s minimum rest requirement,” he answered, the warmth in his words admitting far too much.

Didn’t matter though. They all knew anyways.

Poe pondered the bed, pondered the soft buzz in his head, how he felt his heartbeat in his throat, despite now being clean and finally not thirsty anymore.

 

Snap watched him, testing him yet again.

 

Theoretically, noone would argue if Poe requested sleeping aids. Maybe it even was expected.

Practically, he needed to fly later.

It was not even a question of probability.

There would be trouble.

 

Counting backwards the hours he hadn’t slept, Poe just waved off all the manly reasons why an ace pilot didn’t need to sleep before an op and dropped onto the bed.

It was as if his body had only waited for permission to crack a jaw splitting yawn.

“Great. Now…,” They had done briefings  in much weirder circumstances and it took a lot more to weird out Snap Wexley. “...if you are here and she is here and I am lying is this bed… who the fuck is crashing this ship?”

Snap snorted a laugh.

“Nien Nunb is flying convoy,” he grinned and Poe relaxed, even going so far as to close his eyes.

Nien Nunb was matter of fact the only name that instantly calmed Poe to a certain level of indifference.

The Sullustan war hero defined his own level of competence. On top of that he possessed an almost preternatural calm in the cockpit that no shennanigans of a bunch of half grown space jockeys could shake. 

Poe felt a smile tug on his lips as Snap went on. “We pulled Dagger Squadron from the Echo of Hope, shifted Ello Asty under Iolo’s command and have them all fly recon, looking for the Falcon and the FO.”

That had Poe open one eye to glare at his friend.

“You sent him alone?”

“Of course I sent him alone! I would not send him out with a partner on a recon mission, Commander.”

Ello Asty was a terrific pilot. He just sometimes forgot to be a good team player.

And Snap was annoyed with Poe. His voice had taken on an edge, a sharpness that was a warning to play nice. To trust him.

He was right.

Snap and Iolo knew what he they were doing, especially when it came to recon.

And yes, Poe should probably just shut his mouth and let them do their jobs.

“Sorry, Snap. I’m just….”

“You have just returned from captivity and torture and your body wears more colors than a Coruscant ground level whore. I am aware, Poe” Snap snarked only to immediately soften his voice. “As soon as we find a trace of BB-8, you’ll be the first to know, Black Leader. Get some rest. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Does unconsciousness count?”

“I’ll make the General order you, Poe.”

Poe opened both eyes now and stared at Snap, finding him looking just as tired.

“Who was sent to check the mission site on Jakku?” Poe asked, though he didn’t actually need to. Snap was their best.

“Tell you what, Poe, if I never need to file a report again that your X-Wing is nothing but burnt out rubble surrounded by scorched bodies, it will be too soon.” Snap’s voice did not quite falter, they were pros, after all. All of them. They knew the risks.

Still, these bodies had been people. Women, old ones, lovers that had held onto each other as the Stormtroopers had opened fire, their screams drowned by the blasters.

“I’m not going to apologize, Captain,” he murmured, yawning again.

“You’re hereby forbidden to go missing, presumed dead, ever again, Commander.”

Poe didn’t dignify that with an answer, he just curled with careful deliberation into a more comfortable position for his not quite broken anymore ribs.

“You got three hours,” was the last thing he heard over the soft sound of the closing door.

 

Soft linen. Cool, clean air. The faint hum of the engines and the distant smell of oil.

Home. Friends. A calling.

So many names. Poe. Dameron. Black Leader. Hey, Commander. P03Y5684.

But never was just a number enough. There always was a name.

_“Finn. I’m calling you Finn.”_

_“Yeah, I like that.”_

Poe was not just one person anymore.

The man drifting fitfully into sleep carried with him a legacy. Someone without whom he wouldn’t be here anymore.

A memory. Darkest eyes and utterly kissable lips.

An idea never come to fruition.

A beat of hope. 

_"If you made it out of there, Poe, there is no reason to think, he didn't as well."_

 


	3. the long way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the Wattlefeet exchange must go to [Kyele](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/pseuds/Kyele) who is a fantastic author and also a truly horrible enabler.  
> Love you, dearest!

T minus 37 minutes.

Poe woke with a gasp, the feeling of a crushing weight squeezing his chest.

The blanket had tangled around his shoulders like a soft, warm cloak that hid him from the world and tied him down at the same time.  

No other weight to be found. No shackles.

 

Someone had set the lights at 10%.

Dark enough for sleeping, just bright enough to instantly know his surroundings as he woke.

To know he wasn’t closed in by dark polished steel and the figure in the room was a chair, not a flying torture ball of evil.

By the book.

 

With a slow exhale Poe pushed the blanket off and turned onto his back.

 

His sleepy brain waited for the low purr of servos, the inevitable thud as BB-8 jumped out of his charging station.

Silence.

There was no annoyed whine. No overenthusiastic beeping inquiry what they were going to do that day.

Living with BB-8 was like having a puppy. Or maybe a loth-cat, the potential of great evil rolled up into a fur sized, incredibly loving package. Or a child. Needy and wise in in equal measures. So clever.

As the seconds ticked away and no sound came, not a whirr, not a beep, anything, what had woken him settled like suffocating cloud over him.

Dread.

 

And that was when he truly woke.

 

No alarms sounded. The silence around him was the faint hum of a ship in movement, gentle like blood flow with the Hyperdrive’s dull, low frequency thud as the heartbeat.

Under his hand the wall vibrated softly with the perfect singsong of smoothly running engines.

 

Everything was fine.

If not for that feeling....

The blink of an eye second before you saw that Pirate freighter hiding behind a moon. That TIE you didn’t see, but knew was there.  The knowledge that your parents were keeping a terrible secret from you.

 

Untangling completely from the blanket, Poe sat and let his feet drop to the cold metal floor, unhindered by superfluous luxuries like a carpet.

The memory that blood was easier washed away from a polished surface came unbidden.

Still, he reveled in the sharp, icy sting, the slow shiver that ran up his body.

No matter if it pulled at his muscles all wrong, wrecked the bruises, the stiff joints, the over sensitized skin… but it felt. It was real.

An almost erotic feeling of freedom. Endless possibilities. The choice to stop it, first of all.

The choice to stand, to flee the cold, to magnify it.

Poe pushed up with a laugh.

It was the little things.

 

T minus 31 minutes he brushed his teeth. Got rid of the last stale tastes of iron, of sand, regret and terror.

The cuts on the inside of his mouth had long closed. No fresh blood.

As Poe turned he cut his gaze to about knee height out of habit. He had tripped over BB-8’s all too enthusiastic form a few times too many.

 

Nothing.

It stung.

 

Some had mocked him for being so attached to that rolling beep of mayhem, but damn them, let them live with the droid for a while and see who was mocking then.

 

He had already turned towards the door, before he decided to shave, braving the hollow face in the mirror,  the tired eyes. Truth be told, he felt worse than before his nap, now that his body had tasted a hint of true rest.

Aches and pains.  Deep stiffness. His knee hurt. Breathing was an adventure, though at least the low grade clicking that had accompanied each breath had stopped. He hated broked ribs.

Pushing his hair aside Poe found fresh staples above his left temple.

His head hurt less, that was a good sign.  His heartbeat had returned to almost normal speed and intensity. Even better.

And he was hungry enough to eat a bantha.

 

T minus 25 minutes Poe fitted fresh bacta patches to his body. Somebody had left them next to the MRE that had been dropped in his room while he had been out cold.

 

T minus 22 minutes he sat down to eat that.

It was as disgusting as expected. No amount of hot sauce could save Viljheg chicken in pale broth.

Good thing then that he was hungry enough to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

T minus ten minutes Poe forced his non-compliant body into the flight-suit and his boots with one eye on the invitingly looming door to his sick room.

He could probably push past whatever orders Doc Kalonia had given.

But the discussion would take longer than just waiting it out.

 

T minus six minutes the Hyperdrive stopped.

 

As the alarms blared Poe was already pushing through the door and raced past the medi droid.

“Sir, you are still 5 minutes below your mandatory…. “

Whatever the overhyped trash can had wanted to say was lost as Poe sprinted down the starboard flight of stairs to the flight deck and command center.

 

***

 

Poe  knew the second they noticed him crossing past them to get to his men and women.

“Commander!” Major Emmatt. Of course. Emmatt was on permanent Poe Dameron wrangling duty. Maybe that was his purgatory as devised by Leia Organa.

There was only a second to ponder if Poe shouldn’t just keep walking before he turned with verve in his step and a grin on his lips.

“Major.”

Emmatt’s eyes were as tired as all of theirs with his grey hair making for a weirdly colorful halo in the flickering lights around them.

Yellow for warning. Blue for attention and red for those about to die.

Gritting his teeth Poe silently cursed Iolo and his sense for the dramatic.

That was a nursery rhyme he never had needed in his head.

Staring at his commanding officer Poe felt the silence settle in the chaos of the flight deck.

_Please don’t do it._

In the middle of all their men was the only way Emmat could ground him and if Poe had to judge by the deep brackets around the Major’s mouth, the older man was seriously considering it.

Their eyes met and Poe’s grin, in the process of faltering, lit up again as he saw the fine crinkles fanning out on Emmatt’s cheeks.

His nod was nothing but confirmation, as hesitant as it was.

Poe had passed.

Somehow. Emmatt knew he needed him in the air.

“It’s good to have you back, Poe.”

“Thank you, sir.”

 

They rarely were this formal, their beginning on a deserted, rain drenched airfield far too intimate to keep up the clinical detachment preferred by the Republic’s armed forces.

Since then Poe had learned a few things and one of them was to trust Emmatt the way he never had quite trusted his previous higher ups. Emmatt cared about politics as much as Poe himself, his loyalty intimately tied to General Organa and her quest to keep the galaxy safe where the Republic wouldn’t.

It was nice, for once to trust his fellows in the command structure.

 

Now Emmatt turned and headed towards the extended squadron of X-Wings on the flight deck, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

“BB-8 has been located on Takodana in a pirate hideout in the presence of Han Solo and two unknowns.”

Poe followed, struggling for a short moment to keep his steps even and his shoulders as squared as they needed to be. There was a tendon injury pulling at his knee and his ribs were setting his muscles on fire, but none of that would matter once he was in the air.  The painkillers that had come with his meal were kicking in, reducing pain to mild discomfort.

“The chance that the first order knows where they are is about 100%. Give or take.”

“Give or take, sir?” Poe snorted and Emmatt smiled.

“Good luck, Commander. The relevant coordinates have been transferred to your astromech.”

 

And that was it.

The hum of a hundred servos, the roar of a dozen machines and the wildly oscilating singsong of a myriad of voices played around him like a truly exhilarating symphony, waiting for him to take control - and responsibility.

Once it had only been him and his little squad of five.

Much more intimate. A lot like it had felt with Finn.

“Good luck, buddy,” he whispered, “whereever you are’ added in silence within Poe’s head.

The words were drowned out by all those around him. So many friends and brothers and sisters and other siblings in arms.

The difference between them and the First Order obvious as day and night - aside from all those fascistoid tendencies to violently take over the galaxy. Individuality. Humanity.

Where Finn had been a number before, he needed to be a face in Poe’s memory, alive or not.

Someone at least needed to remember the man, brave and good, and not FN-2187 the faceless, mindless drone.

Noone else knew him that way. Noone else remembered him. And noone would kick FO butt in his name if Poe didn’t.

 

A flight harness was pushed into Poe’s hands along with his vest and it took that to drag him out of his reverie in the middle of a busy flightdeck.

The perfect way to convince the newbies he knew what he was doing.

 _Good job, Commander Dameron,_ snarked a silent commentary his head that sounded exactly like an annoyed Finn and Poe couldn’t help but huff a laugh. Yes, that was exactly what he needed. He was still going after BB-8, too. Force be damned. Finn would have a field day with that one.

 

The parts of Blue Squad not currently flying convoy were already assembled next to their X-Wings. Snap had taken up command in absence of Nien Nunb with Testor at his side, their arms touching in a way that was barely subtle anymore.

 

Red Squad mingled between them, easily picked out for everything they were or were not.

D’Qar planetary squad, the last line of defense for the Resistance headquarters.

Some of them too old for the kinds of physical strain regular dogfights brought. Some of them too young. Fresh faced kids still learning the ropes.

Dyargo had a degenerative disease that needed regular treatment and prevented him from leaving planet side for too long.

Shaa was a former small freighter pilot from an Outer Rim world who had lost family in an unprovoked FO attack on a jump shuttle.

She was not the best pilot out there, not the fastest in her reaction, but she was a good pilot and moreover, she was tough, steady and reliable and took care of the youngsters.

Her current project were twins so wet they were still dripping. They had ditched the military academy, using their cheap low level pass codes to slice higher level pass codes and then had planet hopped to D’Qar by following the irregular logistics transports that the Republic sometimes actually sent.

 

Statura had about had a baby right then and there when they had walked off their stolen space jumper.

And now Anuran and Silvan were Poe’s problem.

Sometimes a delightful one.

 

“Alright everybody, listen up,” he yelled. Despite his fear that it wouldn’t hold up just yet, his voice echoed off the mayhem around them.

“As some of you might have noticed… I lost BB-8.”

There were times and places for serious mission briefings, but in all honesty, he had nothing to say to them, no info yet to give them for a headstart.

As he clambered into his flight harness, with some low-key help from a technician; as his arms wouldn’t reach just quite far enough back, Poe was anything but a respect commanding officer. Just a guy who was a bit too stiff for his tender age, armed with humor, snark and spite to give his pilots (men, female and other) the courage to face this. “I cannot rule out the involvement of alcohol, but I trust all of you to just stay mum about that.”

Laughter sounded as Poe grinned.

“Anyways… this is a rescue mission. We are picking up my droid from Takodana. Coordinates have been transferred to your astromechs. Further instructions will follow inflight.

Blue Squad will rendezvous outside and take the lead. Red Squad will secure our periphery. Expect heavy FO involvement from TIE’s to small frigates. I don’t think they’ll have the audacity to bring in anything bigger, but …” Poe raised his shoulders and arms, effectively using the movement to shrug on his vest. “... hell if I know.”

Laughter again as pilots clambered to their ships, excitement permeating their every move.

For the youngest it would be their first fight.

Dyargo nodded to him once, commanding officer to commanding officer. Both former Republic. Both experienced enough to know exactly what they were getting into.

 

The moment was broken when Snap’s heavy hand landed on Poe’s shoulder.

“Good speech, Poe. Almost didn’t slur your words.”

“Shut up,” came Jess’ hissed response from Poe’s right, along with a small box of pick me ups. Sweets infused with light drugs to make a person a bit more awake and alert. It was a well kept secret how much he actually lived off them.

“You ok?” Her sweet smile hid a feisty spirit and her dark eyes a deep soul that cared for her friends too much, worried too much.

“Yeah. I’ve had worse,” Poe answered but not without reaching into the box. “We’ll do this, kick some ass and then I’m gonna sleep for a week.”

“So…” Snap smirked. “As usual.”

Poe popped candy into his mouth and reached out, the outside of his right arm bumping friendly against Snap’s before raising it diagonally in front of their bodies.

X-Wing salute.

Because deep down they were still five years old.  

Jess just handed him his helmet. “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

For about ten seconds it was weird to be back in his X-Wing.

The weight of the harness, the helmet. The canopy closing felt like being locked in.

 _Please don’t_ , he prayed and that was when the familiarity finally kicked in.

Around him curled the smell of Fariani blossoms and a twig of the tree in his parent’s backyard that he had smuggled into his cockpit and hid under the dash.

It was sweet and fresh and smelled like rainforest and ancient temples.

 

Poe flipped the ignition switch and all around him Black One hummed to life.

Five-0, his replacement astromech, beeped an inquiry that had Poe chuckle.

That one had an odd sense of humor.

“No, I’d prefer it if you kept the settings,” Poe answered and went through the start-up sequence with blind surety. “BB-8 made them for a reason.”

This time the response was clearly miffed and, despite everything, Poe laughed.

“Yes, even that one. I know it’s not factory setting, but trust me the X-Wing will not stall, just keep the thrusters at max,” Poe said. “I’ll do the rest. And don’t try to regulate the cut-off.”

Sometimes Poe wondered if droids gossiped. When Five-O’s answer rolled over the translation panel, he was sure that this one did. And so did BB-8 obviously.

 _I am aware_ , sounded a lot like he had a reputation, even among the mechs.

 

T plus 8 minutes Poe whispered into the void beyond the flight deck, enclosing the fifteen X-Wing around him and the five outside in his prayer.

“May the Force be with you.”

 

T plus ten minutes he closed his fingers around the controls and pulled Black One up.

“This is Black Leader. All wings report in.”

 

***

 

That the Resistance had already been halfway to Jakku to pick him up proved a blessing.

Less time in Hyperspace in a crammed X-Wing was always the better time.

With BB-8 in the astromech slot that rarely was a problem.

His droid loved to chat. And he loved games.

Five-O had no such inclinations. Not with Poe at least.

Even under normal circumstances he was not made for silence. He was a people person. He loved the banter, the good natured ribbing, even the stupid jokes.

He was made for company. Had always been.

 

The FO had kept him in isolation, broken up only by the occasional beating.

And after, as they had talked to him, asked questions, Poe’s only objective had been to say nothing. And he hadn’t.

Not that that had done any good in the long run.

He still felt it, lingering just behind hastily erected barriers in his thoughts; the brutalization a barely closed wound in his mental fabric.

No matter how psychologically resilient someone was - and Poe was extremely resilient according to his test scores - there was bound to be damage.

When the silence stretched too long and his thoughts were allowed to roam too far, it still bled a little.

So when his com activated on a private frequency Poe jumped at the chance to talk to someone, anyone, even Snap.

“Hey Poe, tell us about your new friend.”

“Me and Five-O have a strict working relationship and he is doing an impeccable job.”

Another channel lit up and Poe heard Jess’ laughter.

“Oh, is this gonna be a group discussion? Who else is in on it?”

“Just me and Jess. That’s friends only.” Which meant meddling and worries and subversion of his authority. It meant passing the time with voices that shared his cockpit to drown out the silence and silence his thoughts.

“Have you been spying on intelligence again, Snap?”

Laughter cackled through the com and Poe rolled his eyes, leaning back until only his fingertips rested on the controls.

Hyperspace streaked past the deceptively thin canopy of the ship. Close enough to touch, weirdly intimate and intimately beautiful. There was a sense of disconnect where gravity didn’t seem to quite work right. If he wanted to, Poe thought, he could step outside his body, disconnect into a light trance. Gather some more strength.

He was running at around 50% right now, physically, with his body still desperately out of it, fighting against the effects of a hell of a lot of pain and stress, but his mind firmly in the game. Here. With Snap and Jess, who probably already had worried themselves sick in their little com channel of two.

“I am _in_ Intelligence, you nugget, so spill. Who is he and is he good looking.”

The smile came easily to Poe.

“His name was… is.. Finn. He is very good looking, if I liked men ten years my junior. Just a kid they never let have anything but a number. FN-2187.” Poe paused, pondered if he maybe shouldn’t say that. But then, Snap and Jess  were right there with his old squadmates Iolo and Karé. Friends. Real, close friends.

He sighed. If he ever wanted to get rid of the feel of someone violating his most private thoughts, this was the time to start.

“I thought I was done for. Truly done for, this time. I already saw the nice little light on the other side of the tunnel. I wanted it. I fucking wanted it.”

“Fuck,” Jess voice whispered and Poe snorted, eyes transfixed on the distorted lights of Hyperspace.

“He waltzed in there, all confidence and bravado. Said I was due another round with Kylo Ren and snatched me right from under the guard’s nose. I just wanted him to shoot me, but before I could even stage a flight attempt, he’d dragged me into some alkove and pulled off his helmet and it….”

It what? It was just a panicked face under it? Strikinlgy human? With strikingly feline eyes, for all their deep, warm darkness?

This time Snap cut in with, what he probably believed to be, a helpful suggestion.

“..was love at first sight?”

Poe laughed and shook his head. “No, not…” and then he remembered the warmth, the calm that had settled on him, the unshakeable knowledge that he could trust this man, this Stormtrooper. That this was meant to be. And just like that he felt the giddy joy again. “Well, not quite love, but guys, you’d need to meet him to understand. He’s damn brave. He was quaking in his boots and he just went for it and dragged me along on his way.  A sorry liar, though.“

Poe caught his own unconscious smile and let it bloom, feeding hope.

“The General put him on the target list for allies in danger,” Snap said lowly and Poe nodded. That was just the thing she would do. “If he’s out there we’ll find him and we’ll help him, Poe.”

“You suspect he’s with BB-8, don’t you?”

“Intelligence sets the likelihood at around 67%.”

“Alright, I do-”

He never got to finish that sentence as all around him alarms started to blare.

Contact alarm. Very much impossible in hyperspace, unless Five-O had fucked up the route.

Electronics alarm. Which was totally out of question. Proximity alarm to what exactly? The closest thing was Nien Nunb’s X-wing starboard behind him and even that was a good five lengths away.

His cockpit suddenly steeped in fiery red. All around him the streaking stars seemed to start to bleed and whatever was wrong it was _within_ hyperspace.

Poe grabbed the controls and had just enough time to thumb the squadron wide channels.

“All wings! Emergency exit. 3-2-1.” He flipped the switch. “Now!”

 

All around him X-Wings drop out of Hyperspace with the desperate screech of metal and the wild blaring of alarms.

The twins overshoot. Not by much. Shaa was hot on their tail and herded them back into formation.

No hostiles.

All around them space was bright. Far too bright for the distance to the next sun.

A blue dwarf by the designation of TK 97. No known habitables.

That was definitely not it.

The source for whatever that had been was located at starboard.

“Five-O, Identification.”

There should be nothing there. No Supernova. Especially none with that much of a distortion effect on Hyperspace.

But where nothing should be but a star studded landscape and the wide expanse of the core worlds sat the unmistakable glow of a -4 star. At least.

“What was th…” “I don’t know, I’ve never.” “IN Hyperspace?”

“Radio silence!” Nien Nunb barked and silence fell.

 

Poe stared at the display on his dash, dreading the answer he already suspected would be D’Qar.

It was not and his first reaction was to breath a sigh of relief before the truth filtered through.

“The Hosnian system,” someone whispered, breaking the fragile radio silence.

And whatever it had been. It was over now. The glow had faded, leaving five planets, each vaguely glowing with the power of a small sun.

Helping was Poe’s first instinct. Followed by the knowledge that it was already too late.

The dread in his chest slowly turned into pain.

 

“Everybody standard formation. We have our orders. Calculate jump on my coordinates.”

“But Poe…”

 

Being a Commander… most of the time it meant bringing just that extra bit of tactical understanding on the field, that extra bit of push to get the job done.

Sometimes, though, it meant going on, sticking to protocol and orders, even when his pilots, reasonably, doubted.

Being a good Commander meant knowing when to do what.

“There is nothing there anymore. And there will be even less if we don’t get that datastick. ”

And maybe it was even more of a sign of a good leader when both squads followed without protest.

 

Poe needed to close his eyes, center his thoughts.

Hosnian Prime. The fleet. Comrades of his. Friends, former officers, some good, a few not, was gone.

Something horrible had been about to happen.

And it had happened. It was no longer the faint tension of anticipation.

It was the heavy weight of knowing.

“Jump sequence on my lead.”

Counting down, initiating the jump, all those were automated tasks. Done a thousand times.

Safe and familiar.

Nothing was safe anymore and it sure as hell wasn’t familiar.

 

“Base for Black Leader.”

This time as he hailed them Lieutenant Brance answered at once.

“Poe….”

“Hosnian system. Turned into a supernova. We got thrown out of Hyperspace. No Casualties. We’re on our way.”

What else was there to say?

“We’re assessing the situation. Are you good to go?”

“You bet, Brance. Any losses from our side?”

Resistance, not Republic.

Echo of Hope, General Organa’s flagship - to be honest, their only larger ship - more often than not was in Republican space, shuttling dignitaries, bribes or rare supplies between them.

Echo of Hope meant Iolo and Karé Kun. Poe tried not to play favorites, but he couldn’t help feel responsible for his pilots, former squadmates. Friends.

“Kor Sella and her escort were on Hosnian Prime. Echo of Hope was  far enough out.”

Poe liked Kor Sella with her beautiful skin and her bright mind and smile. So fucking capable. So fucking gone now.

“Have Captain Kun check it out. We’re proceeding as planned,” Poe pressed out through gritted teeth. Dangerous and petty perhaps to be that angry, but hell, he needed to kick someone’s ass. Just a small victory. Just blow something up that belonged to the FO.

A Star Destroyer or something.

 

***

 

It was not a Star Destroyer, just a small frigate and by the time they reached target he had cooled enough to not try it, sticking strictly to the opposite side of the planet.

“All wings, call in.”

The voices that answered him were shaken, but not the least bit less angry than him.

“Blue squadron, you’re with me. Red Squadron, take periphery.

Red eight, Shaa, you’re our beater. Whatever tries to break out and circle us is yours.

Red nine, Red ten, you are with Shaa. Do not engage until she tells you to and stick to her ass as if your lives depend on it.”

Anuran’s answer was prompt and as usual in ignorance of anything remotely resembling protocol.

“Like ducklings to their Mama Goose, Black Leader.”

Shaa didn’t miss a beat. Shaken or not, she was too solid to fall for the bait.

“Mama Goose is taking over. Duckling one, Duckling two, follow me.”

All three rolled into a tight curve to spread out.

 

In front of Poe a wide lake spread, surrounding a castle. And around the castle the unmistakable forms of TIEs circling, parked First Order shuttles.

“We go in hot and tight. Follow the planets curve. Keep as low as you can.”

The engines would evaporate any excess water with the cloud of spray hopelessly confounding their enemies’ scanners.

Poe had seen them, had had a taste of their instruments and what they were capable of.

The TIEs were hellhounds in the air, but their scanners left a lot to be desired.

They wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Blue Squad ready.” Nien Nunb’s unmistakable squabble.

“Red Squad ready.” Dyargo.

Coming low over the trees Poe immediately dipped Black One’s snout until barely a foot was between him and a wet landing.

Five-O beeped in panicked warning.

Poe ignored him. With a quick glance over his shoulder he confirmed the presence of all of their pilots.

Twenty one pilots. Each of them pissed beyond imagination.

Dyargo’s brother was security technician on a Republic diplomatic vessel.  

Anuran and Silvan had had their whole past, friends and goals and hopes, on these worlds the First Order had just obliterated.

Poe aligned his weapons systems with a deep breath.

If BB-8 was ahead in that quickly crumbling castle, then so was Finn, he hoped.

For the whole of four days Poe had been on the run.

From the fallibility of his own defenses. From the pain. The humiliation and degradation. From the knowledge that his mental autonomy had been irrevocably been robbed from him. From the thought of a Stormtroopers that had proven human beyond anything humanly possible. Who he owed his life to.

“Alright, everybody. Go straight ahead and don't let these dogs scare you!”

The answers as they came drew a grim smile on Poe’s face.

 

It was wild, it was the absolute craziness of dogfights in atmosphere.

It felt like home.

The brutal push and pull of gravity, of the seatbelts digging into his skin and bones, exaggerating the bruises already there.

Poe didn’t care. He didn’t give a flying fuck. Haha.

His body had long since numbed out in a mix of adrenalin and painkillers and through the spreading flower of an exploding TIE’s fuel tank he screamed it out to the pale blue sky above.

Free. He was finally free.

 

Poe Dameron wasn’t the best pilot in the galaxy simply because he was good. He was the best because he loved flying more than anything. He loved it more than breathing, more than life itself.

Ribs broken, mind torn apart, gashes across his face and head, cuts and bruises and the Force damned need to just crawl and hide…. none of that mattered.

Up here, he was whole.

 

***

 

The flight back passed in silence.

Right before they jumped a message had appeared on Poe’s dashboard.

Ematt: “We got BB-8.”

That was it.

Anuran had somehow managed to get his X-Wing hit by a stray shot in the dogfight, that had taken out his port s-foil controls but not the starboard ones. It had not even been meant for him.

Alerted by Silvan panicked cries for his brother to eject, Dyargo had taken out the two TIEs that had tried to break their cordon and bought their youngest time.

With one wing pairing and three out of four engines Anuran had barely averted a crash.

Insisting he could save his machine Anuran had managed to pull the X-WIng in a row of barrel rolls until he had gotten it stabilized.

Stupid kid. Great piloting.

But this was the kind of shit that turned a squadron leader prematurely grey.

Now both twins stuck to Shaa’s wing tips like scared babes to their mother’s skirt tails. Mama Goose indeed.

They went slower than they needed, cognizant of the damage and Poe suddenly found himself in command of the galaxy’s most well behaved squad. It was eerie as hell.

Who could fault them though?

All of a sudden they were at war.

Not guerilla tactics anymore, patrolling the border regions of the Outer Rim, no longer recon to get data they could shuffle to their contacts in the New Republic.

War.

And on its first day it had racked up a body count of billions.

 

Through the pain, Poe felt oddly relieved; angry too, because if anybody had actually listened to the Resistance’s warnings, the Republic and all these people could still be alive, but first and foremost he felt relieved.

It was in the open now.

No more battling on two fronts, no more hiding while trying to get something - anything - done.

 

That was the officer and squadron leader speaking, not the man.

The man was just wrung dry.

 

Enough that he found himself handing over the controls to Five-O and the command to Nien Nunb a third through the hour long flight.

Likely the last chance for rest he would have in a long time.

 

His com dragged him back to life not quite two hours later.

“Poe?”

He jerked up, eyes heavy, a crick in his neck and…. half an hour left in Hyperspace according to his dash chrono and Five-O’s insistent beeping. Obviously the astromech had decided it was time to wake and had lifted the communications block.

And not even for something important from the sound of it.

“Fuck off, Snap,” Poe grumbled and stretched his aching shoulders as best as he could in the cramped confines of his cockpit.

“We need a mediator, Commander and as the highest ranking officer, you drew the short straw,” his friend’s laughter tinged voice said.  

Poe had barely enough time to miss the silence before Snap thumbed him into a discussion that seemed to have gone one for quite a while.

"... a gaggle of baby animals that follows their mama around are ducklings!" Silvan gritted out.

And of all the things he could have chosen to deal with the loss of his home world and the almost loss of his twin...

It was the other side of the discussion that surprised Poe. Dyargo should know better, though he was just the type to find that worth a debate.

“I see your point,  but we say Mama GOOSE not Mama DUCK and so you should be GOSLINGS"

“Guys….” Poe groaned and then he laughed.

Maybe not the most healthy reaction, but then... laughter couldn’t ever be wrong.

Nien Nunb saved him, squawking with that choking laugh of his.

“On Sullust we just call all of them waddlefeet. We don’t have this problem"

Poe saw his chance and, like the great fighter pilot that he was, he took it.

“You heard Blue Leader. Waddlefeet one, shut up. Black Leader out.”

 

Their laughter wrapped around him while Poe went through the inflight checkups, requested landing parameters from D’Qar and basically behaved like a responsible adult.

“Waddlefeet two, how’s your wing situation?”

“Stable, Black Leader, as long as I don’t try and open it. Reaction times are sluggish and I lost the port sensors when the electronics fried.”

“A sight landing, then. You’ll have clear weather and will go down first with Waddlefeet one and Mama Goose. The mechs are expecting you.”

“Copy that, Commander,” Anuran answered, like a perfectly well behaved little soldier.

 

 

***

 

D’Qar was beautiful.

The planet itself was tiny and without any importance, too far out for trade, with too little ressources to be worth the hassle of colonisation and an asteroid belt  that made air travel for larger vessels difficult so nobody had really ever bothered.

It reminded Poe of Yavin 4 most days, though the climate zone of the old clone war era airbase had decidedly less heat and less humidity.

 

 

They brought down Anuran in one piece and without a fire, Shaa dictating the sensor readings from her own, parallel approach. Poe would need to find a way to commend her for being the opposite of a hotshot pilot at some point.

Later.

And that was it.

All of his men and women had made it home.

The map, too, and BB-8.

His friend that Poe had stupidly, selfishly maybe, chosen to protect by sacrificing himself on Jakku.

But without that, Finn would have been found out, broken, executed. Whatever the FO did with people who didn't fit the mold.

And then he had endangered Finn by wanting to go back to Jakku. Killed him, perhaps. Who knew.

It was a mess, entangled in inextricable knots. A crazy net that tied them all together. Or maybe not.

Maybe it had ripped and there would forever be a Finn-sized hole.

The headache was back.

 

Poe took that moment after the canopy of his X-wing opened to just breath. To just be and come back to ground.

He had made it home.

 

Climbing down the ladder proved a challenge. One he aced, of course, only to be received by a tech and the words “Doc Kalonia wants to see you.”

Poe handed her his gloves, then his helmet, an answer already on his lips, before he saw the flash of flightsuit orange and white out of the corner of his eyes, racing over the tarmac like an oversized speedball.

“BB-8, my friend!”

Poe bridged the distance with three wide steps, a grin and jubilation in his voice.

His knee held as he dropped, brought his face to eye-level with the excitedly bouncing bit of circular circuitry that was his astromech and reached out to touch BB-8’s domed head.

Too much. All of a sudden, it was too much.

The knowledge that he had survived, that his friend was alright, that they had the map. That they both had made it, despite everything.

[Friend-Poe. Friend-Poe. You live. ]

Under Poe’s hand BB-8’s servos rattled in the soft purr that was far more lifelike than it should be, a sign of anxiety and fear in his little droid.

[Friend-Poe. I did what you said, but you didn’t come back. And someone caught me, but Rey freed me and Finn said you died. They captured you and you died. We flew from Jakku in a piece of junk! With Finn and with Rey and the nasty old human. Finn promised he would. And we came here. Friend-Finn brought me to you. And you are not dead. You are injured, Friend-Poe. I missed you, Friend-Poe. ]

The droid didn’t say all of that in quite so many words, stringing shortcuts together like an overexcited child. Like he sometimes did. Bouncing on his round little body, curling slowly under Poe’s hand to soak up all of the attention, unaware and uncaring of the hope that just exploded into fireworks of joy in Poe’s chest.

Finn… Finn. He was…

He had made it.

_“We need to go back to Jakku.”_

_“If we go back to Jakku, we die!”_

_“We need to get my droid.”_

_“No droid can be worth this!”_

 

“Finn! Where is he?”

Before he had even finished BB-8 turned his lense past Poe’s left shoulder.

To the man dressed in dark colors, skin the same luscious brown, body the kind of stocky that was reserved for warriors. He stood strong and straight. Free of injury. Whole and just…

 

_“Can you fly a TIE?”_

_“I can fly everything!”_

 

_“FN-2187. That’s the only name they ever gave me.”_

_“Finn.”_

 

Poe’s steps were uneven as he ran, muscles pulling into too many conflicting directions.

He didn’t truly notice, still too pumped on painkillers, but somewhere in the back of his brain - far behind the incessant chants of Finn! Finn! Finn! - a small intellectual remnant of his mind pondered how much it would hurt once those wore off.

Lots, Poe thought, as he crashed into the body of the younger man, slinging his arms around Finn’s shoulders as if that made everything ok again.

Weirdly, it did.

Finn smelled of leather, sand and motoroil and below, something warm and safe and utterly, uniquely Finn.

Just a second, Poe thought, as he buried his nose in the crook of Finn’s neck, desperate to buy a moment and overwrite all those that had happened in between.

Just a second, he told himself as he stepped back and looked into that face again, the weirdly cat-like eyes, dark and deep, and, yes, utterly kissable lips.

 

_When you crash,  Poe, you crash. But there is always something you can do.  Velocity, angle… this is all in your hands, all just tools of the one, single most important factor._

_Which is that, mommy?_

_Your will to survive._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have come to the end.  
> Or maybe we haven't. Someone nudged me to follow up and have Poe properly break down.  
> Yes, I know exactly the right people. 
> 
> I you want, you can follow me on Tumblr [here](http://kat2107.tumblr.com/)


End file.
